Archive for the ‘Shirley Stone’ Category


I saw the flicker of your flame and instantly was drawn
Drawn to seek your comfort as my love for you was born
Born from curiosity to bask within your glow
The glow that would destroy my life, yet how was I to know
To know how you’d seduce me and then hold me as your slave
A slave who’s at your mercy as you watch me beg and crave
A craving that’s insatiable, that makes me feel ashamed
But like a moth, I’m drawn once more, to perish in your flame

copyright S. Stone 2017

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Pale young boys of tender years, sent underground each day,
To breathe the dust and risk their lives before they slipped away.
And womenfolk who worked like dogs from early morn till night,
With blackened face and haunted eyes that stared from pools of white.
Then ‘black by day and red by night’ was how our land was seen,
Where once grew fields of golden corn and pastures lush and green,
Transformed into a world of fire with heaps of slack and spoil,
By men who often paid the price with burdened lives of toil.
No accolades or words of praise, just meagre pay at best,
And scars they wore with dignity, like medals on their chest

copyright S Stone 2017

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Welcome to the world my child, I hear your anguished cries, 

And share the apprehension I see mirrored in your eyes. 

Your needs are pure and simple, no unrequired demands, 

Unconsciously you place your trust in life’s unyielding hands. 

Your book of life has opened, its pages clean and white, 

Just waiting for the hand of time to take its pen and write. 

But soon you’ll be its author, each chapter your design, 

And hopefully you’ll write it well and savour every line. 

So welcome to the world my child, I hope it treats you well, 

And though you never chose to write, the story’s yours to tell.

Copyright S. Stone July 2017

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I remember being young and thinking of the war
Whilst wearing grandad’s medals that I’d taken from his draw
I tried to ask him questions that formed within my mind
They must have seemed insensitive and probably unkind
I badgered him to tell me about those foreign lands
and pestered him to paint a scene to make me understand
He told me of his injuries that left his body weak
But all the hurts inside his mind were thoughts he couldn’t speak
I handed back the medals he always let me wear
And as I did he said these words
“Be glad that you weren’t there”
Copyright S. Stone 7/11/16

I wish I still had my grandad Bagleys medals. I, like Shirley, remember looking at them as a child. I know that one day some of his relatives came from Leicester and he gave them to their little boy. Grandad was very young when he went to war and was away in France for two years. Luckily for us he came home, injured and broken but back home. He never spoke about his experiences and I never asked him. I loved him very much and I know his genes have lived on in my brother and my son Adam. Miss you grandad.



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